State of Secrets
by Elpin
Summary: When James Bond breaks Lucas North out of a Russian prison, can they really trust each other? Who is the real traitor? There are more secrets than either suspect, but who holds them all? Slash warning


Notes: This is the first chapter in a long-planned Spooks/Bond crossover. I'm still wrinkling out the plot somewhat, but I wanted to see what people think of the premise. There will be Bond/North slash, and maybe Bond/Q or North/Q or - dare I dream it? - all three!

-:-

Chapter 1: Damsel in Captivity

Monotony breeds boredom and a blurred consciousness, or so they said. No days or nights, so how could one count the hours? Honestly, he would have preferred it if the days did bled together. Just one endless stream of pain – with no hope in between. But the counting, even if it couldn't be accurate, gave him strength. Every approximated day was another shot in the chest of those who had betrayed him. Every time they threw a tin cup of gruel into his cell, he imagined his traitor eating a fancy dinner in the City. He pictured himself walking into the restaurant, a gun in his hand, double tap to the head and chest, but not before their eyes met. He lived now only for another's death.

Morbid thoughts for a morbid place. Sometimes he tried to remember things to keep him occupied. A poem from his school days, the birthdays of the colleagues. Most of the time his body was too drained to think. He was reduced to a creature of instinct, which was in many ways a blessing.

In all the ways he had dreamt of escape or release, nothing came close to reality.

On day 1835, give or take a few dozen or hundreds, he was in solitary confinement, where he had been for two weeks. The sound of the explosion rumbled like a giant's belly from above. Five seconds later he heard boots stomping down the hallway, and shouts, the smell of panic in the air. Things went quiet for a long time after that. Lucas figured it had to be some sort of accidental gas explosion. His only worry was suffocating if there was a fire somewhere, and the air got choked with smoke. He wouldn't burn here in the concrete and iron, the fires would never reach, but the vents could bring his end.

Suddenly, the doors to every cell in the ward unlocked, clanking like heavy dominoes down the hall. He got up and pressed himself to the door, not pushing, ignoring the stinging cold metal. He could hear other doors being pushed open, the slapping of bare feet down the hall and small cries of victory as prisoners ran. Then silence. He set his shoulder against the door and pushed.

Looking both ways, he went right, away from the others, going through the door at the end and finding several checkpoints, all empty. Flimsy trousers were his only garment, so he found an office behind a protective cage and started looting. All he found was a discarded military jacket, smelling of vodka. He was rooting through the drawers when he heard the sound of a gun click, a warning.

Rising slowly, hands up, he was met by the sight of a blond man, heavily built, with steely blue eyes. Not Russian, Lucas guessed, but not because of his appearance – the officer's disguise was perfect – but based on the Walther PPK trained at him.

'Lucas North?' the man asked.

'Who are you?'

'Name's Bond. James Bond. Double O agent. I've been sent to retrieve you.'

'By who?' The name of Harry Pearce forced itself through his mind.

'A mutual friend.'

'Give me a name! I'm hardly worth your expenses getting here. Why bother coming, let alone risking an incident?' he demanded. Bond put away his gun, then shrugged off a duffel bag, pulling out combat boots.

'Get them on. Argue later,' he ordered. Lucas knew they couldn't waste time. He pushed Pearce from his mind and did as he was told.

Bond took point, and Lucas felt naked without a weapon, but he had to trust the double O. If anyone could get him out of here alive...

The stairwell was filled with smoke just above them, but instead of going up into it, Bond headed down. They could hear the shouts more easily now, and people screaming. Lucas wondered how many of the inmates were dying.

At the bottom they found a heavy metal door. Bond attached a small explosive device to its lock. They hid under the stairs while it blew. Bond approached cautiously, and predictably just as he got a look shots were fired. Lucas kept his position while Bond waited for the people to reload. By the sound there were at least three, but they were in a panic and firing madly. Almost simultaneously they ran out of bullets and Bond spun from his cover, shooting three times down the hall. Lucas couldn't see what happened, but Bond urged him on, and when they traversed the hallway they passed three men, each with a bullet to the chest. Lucas couldn't help but be a little impressed.

They traversed several ever-narrowing hallways, getting deeper underground until Bond stopped short at an intersection. The hallways split in a T shape, but straight ahead there was a big grate going down into the sewers. It was secured with two heavy-duty padlocks. Bond got out a gadget Lucas imagined his fellow Spooks would envy and cut the padlocks with a small blow-torch device.

Lucas kept watch, but they were so far away he couldn't even hear anything. Bond got the grate open and they dropped down.

After that they had to trek through some nasty shit, literally, but Lucas hadn't been imagining a much cleaner escape so he kept silent. By the time they reached the outlet, a big drain spilling into a lake, they were out in the middle of nowhere – even further into nowhere than the prison. Lucas got out of the water, walked a few feet up the bank and fell to his knees on the grass, staring up at the sky.

He breathed in deep.

'We have to keep moving,' Bond ordered, slightly impatient, but he still waited for Lucas to get up on his own power. He followed Bond up the bank and into the forest. They jogged a while, the mossy ground covered in a couple inches snow, but it wasn't that cold – or at least not relative to the concrete home he had come from. Just as he was about to demand a rest, they reached a road, and a car. It was an old army truck. A Russian man stood watch by it, and seemed to be expecting them, for he threw away his cigarette and got in the driver's seat without a word. Bond got in the back, and pulled Lucas inside after.

They sat opposite each other in silence for what Lucas reckoned was a good hour. He decided to hold off on questions for now, judging by Bond's tense look. They were clearly far from out of danger yet.

When the truck finally stopped, Bond waited for the driver to come round and knock twice. Outside Lucas found himself on a tiny airstrip, a suitably sized plane waiting for them. Just two seats, one propeller, it looked like a toy, and Lucas hadn't flown one that size in years. Hopefully, Bond was doing the flying, considering he was almost kissing asphalt.

Bond was exchanging a few words with the Russian, but it wasn't going well judging by the local's accent.

'Double, double,' the Russian was muttering. 'You think the government won't come here after that? I heard the explosion.'

'I don't have any more,' Bond sighed. 'You've got all my money.' His accent wasn't too bad, but it was clear he hadn't been studying long. The Russian started arguing too quickly for Bond to catch, in a barely-similar dialect.

'He hasn't got any more,' Lucas cut in. 'If you're smart, you take what you've gotten and get the hell out of here before they do get here. We're leaving and won't be back.'

'You will,' the Russian smirked, pointing at Lucas. 'They'll catch you, and drag you back.'

'Not alive,' Lucas growled. The Russian's mouth snapped shut and he spit out some curses as he hurried back to his truck. Lucas glanced at Bond, 'Your accent is atrocious,' he told him, and headed for the plane.

Bond got the plane in the air effortlessly, and Lucas allowed himself to lean back slightly as the forest and mountains rolled away underneath them. Could this be it?

'Where are we going?' He knew the plane was pointed north and west, but since he had no real idea of where exactly the prison or the airstrip was, that left a big gap in his calculations.

'As far away as possible right now,' Bond explained, but didn't elaborate.

'And our mutual friend?'

'Harry Pearce.' The name shouldn't make him react. He had pictured a hundred scenarios of how he would greet Harry. He knew he would hear the name again before the end.

'Why the hell would a double O agent rescue a burnable Mi5 agent on the word of Harry Pearce?'

'We need your help.'

'Well, you can both fuck off.'

'Shall I turn the plane around, then?'

'You can crash it for all I care,' he lied. Bond glanced at him, but his hands were steady on the controls.

'He did what he had to do, you should respect that.'

'Trust me, I've heard Pearce's justifications in my head for five years. I know what I signed up for. Doesn't mean I have to forgive him.'

'Actually, it's more like six years, two months.'

'Right, thanks.' He closed his eyes for a moment. Why would he even pretend he wasn't going to do exactly what was asked of him? The thought of Harry needing him this much, of getting this character to blow up a prison for him. Surely that meant his status would be reinstated? He could return home to a real welcome instead of interrogations and debriefings for months. They flew in silence for an uncounted number of minutes. They were flying just over the tops of snow-covered mountains now, but the clouds were getting low and several times they couldn't see a thing.

'Shit, we've got a problem,' Bond said.

'What?'

'Someone's sabotaged it. We're almost out of fuel.'

'Fucking Russians.'

'Very likely.' The plane had begun to shake slightly more than was normal. Was it just Lucas, or were the mountains getting taller? Suddenly, the propeller started slowing. Lucas tightened his seatbelt.

'Can you glide it down?' Lucas asked.

'I can try, but it's not like we've got a straight bit of ground to land on.' That was an understatement, and with the cloud cover it was likely they'd smash straight into a mountain before they even saw it coming. What an ending, Lucas almost started laughing manically.

Bond flew threw a gap in the mountain range, trying to bank round a suspicious-looking cloud. Things were shaking badly from the turbulence, and Lucas was sure they'd hit the next mountain. He grabbed the controls and pulled left.

They weren't going to make it.

'Shit,' was Bond's last muttered word.

The right wing snagged the ridge, and Lucas' whole world spun and shook, like he was in a dryer. He fumbled for something to grab onto, barely aware of Bond still holding the controls in a vice grip. The world outside the windows was blinking white, blue, white, blue.

The last thing he did was grab Bond's sleeve, then the plane touched down. Lucas was jerked so hard in his seat, his belt almost snapped.

The plane hit the side of the mountain upside down, crushing the ceiling down just shy of their heads. The force of the impact almost snapped both their necks from the whiplash. They were only kept in their seats by the centrifugal force as the plane started rolling and sliding, jerking this way and that as it hit rocks and snowbanks.

It was a miracle Lucas was still conscious. He had seconds to live, but the only thing in his mind was Bond – just some agent sent out to collect him, and now this. For him at least it was better than starving to death in that cell.

Any moment now the plane would be ripped apart, and Lucas prayed for unconsciousness.

His wish was granted.

XXX

The next thing he felt was a pounding in his head. He slowly blinked his eyes open. Something was wrong with the world. Was he dead? Nope, too much pain for that. He saw the remains of the controls in front of him, but most of the front had been replaced by a wall of snow inches from his face. He spit and felt the saliva trickle up – or rather down – to hit his nose, confirming he was indeed upside down. He gingerly grasped his belt, feeling every muscle in his body protest the movement.

He managed to release himself without landing on his face. He glanced at Bond, who was upside down and unconscious. Before he helped the man he checked behind them, but there wasn't much to check.

Almost the entire rear of the plane was gone, just gone. He blinked up at the white world outside and saw specs of metal all across the mountain. He turned back to Bond and smacked him lightly on a stubbly cheek. The face had a gash above the right eye.

Bond grunted himself awake and then groaned deeply.

'You all there?' Lucas asked.

'Get me down,' Bond answered. Together they managed it as gently as possible, but a wrong step sent Lucas cursing. He sat down quickly to inspect the pain. His leg had a gash in it, not deep thank God. Hopefully he could still walk. If they got stuck up here injured they might as well shoot themselves. 'Are you hurt?'

'Not too bad, considering,' Lucas said, glancing around them slightly bemused if anything. Bond huffed and climbed outside. Lucas followed gingerly.

'How far from anything else are we?' Lucas asked as Bond surveyed the landscape. They seemed to be in the middle of a sharp valley high in the mountains. The only dip in the rock walls around them was due south where they'd flown – or attempted to fly – through. It was only a slightly lower ridge, but enough to maybe climb out.

'I think I see the packs,' Bond said, pointing up towards the debris. 'Sit tight while I get them, then I'll bind that wound.'

'Be careful,' Lucas told him, watching him go. The snow was deep at the bottom of the valley, and Bond went to his thighs. The sky was light despite the low cloud cover, not a speck of blue left down here. He looked around, trying to feel free in the fresh air, ignoring the inevitable hopelessness. He sat down on a piece of metal, glad Bond had gotten him combat boots.

As Lucas watched Bond progress up the side of the mountain, he realised it was impossible to gauge distance in the monotone environment. The debris Bond was heading for was right there, but it took the double O over an hour to get up and down. By then Lucas had bound his wound with the seatbelt.

Bond came back exhausted, but still kneeled down in front of Lucas immediately and got out a medical pack. Lucas didn't say a word as Bond bandaged the wound properly. It wasn't too bad once it was clean, and Lucas sighed in relief.

'Any idea on which direction to civilization?' Lucas asked once Bond started looking through one of the packs, checking supplies. It was a surprisingly large amount.

'The original plan was to land on an airstrip northwest of here. A man and some dogs were suppose to meet us, take us to the Norwegian border.'

'Norwegian?' Lucas looked up at the sky, wondering why in his mind he had been so much farther east. The thought that he had been so far west, so close to Europe and England, all this time, soured his hopes.

'We stay on foot and off any radars. Cross the border with Norwegian passports.'

'Why all this?' Lucas demanded. 'Why not do an exchange?' Bond continued checking supplies. 'Answer me.'

'Officially, you're a traitor,' Bond said at last, giving him a shrug. 'This isn't sanctioned. It's a favour, for Harry.'

'And how do you know Harry Pearce?' As far as Lucas knew, Harry didn't exactly enjoy working with MI6. The man practically invented internal rivalry.

'We worked a case together. What matters is what you know.' Bond sat down opposite Lucas, folding his hands. 'Pearce gave you a piece of information, or rather, a location, where he might hide things too important to risk hiding anywhere else. He couldn't tell me himself, but I need you to.'

Lucas laughed, right in Bond's face.

'That's the biggest sprout of bollocks I've ever heard,' he said. 'Even if Harry did give me such a location, why on earth would I just lead you to it?'

'Because I'm helping Harry clear his name.' That wiped the laughter from Lucas' face. He shook his head, because the thought of anyone even suspecting Harry Pearce was absolutely impossible.

'He's been branded a traitor, but I know he isn't.'

'Why should I believe you?!' Lucas growled, getting up, needing to breathe, but feeling suddenly claustrophobic in the bottom of this white hole.

'I can give you information about you only Harry knew,' Bond told him.

'Like what?' Lucas scoffed.

'Like your name.'

This was one dangerous man, Lucas realised. He was very clearly the best of the best. James Bond, double O. But he had just made his first mistake. He had overestimated Harry's skill. That wasn't something someone did often, but this day was a day for impossibles. If Harry Pearce had known Lucas North's true name, he had never communicated it to Lucas, and so even if he did know, telling Bond to use it as a trust bargain was pointless.

The big conclusion to that statement was that Bond really, really wanted Lucas to trust him, and was willing to do a very big gamble on making Lucas believe Harry Pearce had sent him. If he wanted answers, there was only one answer.

'Say it then,' he dared Bond.

'John,' Bond rose, adressing him in earnest, 'Harry doesn't care about the past, he cares about the future, both your futures.'

'So he sent you,' Lucas smiled sadly, 'to save the day?'

'To help you save him,' Bond corrected. 'But we need to work together, get out of here alive, and find Harry's hiding place.'

Lucas shook his head – that point wasn't worth arguing about – 'I don't have any information.'

'I think you do, you just don't know it.' Lucas frowned, not expected Bond to sound halfway optimistic about such an unlikely idea. 'Let's get out alive first, deal?' Bond stretched out his hand.

Lucas eyed it for a moment of principle, then shook it hard. Bond looked surprised by his strength.

'Six years in a Russian prison,' he said, 'it's like being in boot camp.' Bond conceeded that point and they started organizing the packs so they could start climbing in the morning. Tonight they would huddle into the wreckage for warmth. Lucas had slept with worse enemies.


End file.
